Stories of Lost Child
Siblings
A Day I Will Never Forget
by Roger Creech, Hillsboro, U.S.A.
On Sunday morning, June 25, 2000, I was sound asleep when a phone call came in that I'll never forget. My sister-in-law called and said that our youngest brother, Kelly, was involved in a boating accident on Lake Whitney. She didn't have any specifics. Her husband (Travis) and my mother were heading in that direction. Being in the media, I called the local law enforcement agencies to see if they had any reports. They said they did but wouldn't give me any details. I knew then it was serious. I headed to the lake to find out my worst fear -- that the divers were looking for Kelly. There was 6 people in the boat; but, he was the only one hurt. I have a little poem that was given to me that simply puts things about as close to the truth as one can feel after losing a loved one. “How long will the pain last?” A broken-hearted mourner asked me. “All the rest of your life.” I had to answer truthfully. We never quite forget. No matter how many years pass, we remember. The loss of a loved one is like a major operation; part of us is removed, and we have a scar for the rest of our lives. This does not mean that the pain continues at the same intensity. There is a short while, at first, when we hardly believe it; it is rather like when we have cut our hand, we see the blood flowing, but the pain has not set in yet. So when we are bereaved, there is a short while before the pain hits us. But when it does, it is massive in its effect. Grief is shattering. Then the wound begins to heal. It is like going through a dark tunnel. Occasionally we glimpse a bit of light up ahead, then we lose sight of it a while, then see it again, and one day we merge into the light. We are able to laugh, to care, to live. The wound is healed so to speak, the stitches are taken out, and we are whole again. But not quite. The scar is still there, and the scar tissue too. As the years go by, we manage. There are things to do, people to care for, tasks that call for full attention. But the pain is still there, not far below the surface. We see a face that looks familiar, hear a voice that has echoes, see a photograph in someone’s album, see a landscape that once we saw together, and it is as though the knife were in the wound again. But not so painfully. And mixed with joy too. Because remembering a happy time is not all sorrow; it brings back happiness with it. As a matter of fact, we even seek such moments of bittersweet remembrance. We have our religious memories and our memorial days, and our visits to the cemetery. And though these bring back the pain, they bring back memories of joy as well. How long will the pain last? All the rest of your life. But the thing to remember is that not only the pain will last, but the blessed memories as well. Tears are the proof of life. The more love, the more tears. If this be true, then how could we ever ask that the pain cease altogether? For then the memory of love would go with it. The pain of grief is the price we pay for love.
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